


A Shot of Whiskey from an Ashtray

by Stelera



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Action, Alcohol, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Hanzo Is Bad At Showing Affection, M/M, McCree Has It Bad, Multi-Shot, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Purple Prose, Romance, Slow Burn, Smoking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-25 19:20:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7544779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stelera/pseuds/Stelera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Either come in or leave, but quit making that racket outside my door with your ridiculous spurs.” Jesse paused in front of the door, lips quirked to the side thoughtfully before he spoke back.<br/>“That an invitation, partner?”<br/>The door cracked open and Hanzo stood in the doorway, cool with his expression but not so frigid with his posture. He held the door back and stood just far enough aside that Jesse could come in if he was willing to bump shoulders.<br/>“What do you think?”<br/>He was more than willing.</p>
<p>Alternate Title: "In Which McCree is as Hopeless as he is Desperate and Hanzo Doesn't Say 'I Love You' or Kiss on the Mouth Unless Drunk"</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Shot of Whiskey from an Ashtray

Hanzo doesn't say 'I love you' back when McCree says it. It had slipped out once upon a time as they lingered on a balcony overlooking the streets of Dorado in the wake of the festival. The gutters were lined with trash and the streets were dark compared to the night previous; all the strings of lights in the central plaza hung unlit in the warm evening. Hanzo was leaning forward on his elbows while McCree leaned back, glass of whiskey in one hand and an imported cigar in the other. They'd managed to just barely scrape by navigating important weapons cargo across the city in spite of heavy Talon opposition. McCree himself only needed seven stitches; two on the bridge of his nose and five on the back of his head. All in all he felt like he made out like a bandit. He chuckled to himself as he took a drag from his cigar, and letting the smoke roll from his nose as he laughed. He licked his lips and cast a long glance in Hanzo's direction, admiring his broad shoulders and neutral expression; it wasn't every night he caught Hanzo without a scowl creasing his brow. It slipped out, uncertain in its own intention to be said as he put the cigar to his lips again.

“Love you, Hanzo.”

Hanzo's eyes shifted towards McCree as he paused with the cigar between his teeth as they both processed what he'd said. With a grunt, Hanzo turned his gaze back towards the city below while Jesse looked down, puffing at his smoke as his brow kinked up. He hadn't meant to come across so boldly, but there it was, all out in the open like his dirty laundry. His throat tightened up and he shifted, leaning his cigar away in favor of his glass. His eyes were too distracted by looking anywhere but towards Hanzo that he didn't notice right away as Hanzo filched the cigar from between his knuckles. McCree glanced up and over to meet Hanzo's eyes, half-lidded and steely but unreadable as he brought the chewed end of the cigar to his lips and took a drag, blowing the smoke aside though he may have been tempted to blow it in Jesse's face. The grip of McCree's prosthetic hand nearly slipped on the glass as he gulped his mouthful of liquor. His heart felt like it slowed agonizingly in his chest as Hanzo leaned forward. Their eyes closed as their mouths met, slow and deliberate, like a recitation in a silent, intimate language. Kissing Jesse McCree tasted like taking a shot of whiskey from an ashtray, but Hanzo made a motion of it as he slipped the cigar back between Jesse's trembling fingers.

By the time Jesse overcame his moment of shell-shock he was already staring at the yellow ribbon fluttering from Hanzo's ponytail as he made his way back inside. For a moment he thought he'd seen Hanzo glance over his shoulder towards him, but in a blink the moment was gone.

“Hell,” he cursed under his breath, scrunching up his brow as he knocked back the rest of his glass and stubbed out the cigar on the stone banister. He left the glass of ice by the ashy smudge as he pocketed the rest of the cigar and tucked his hands in his pockets, following Hanzo back indoors.

 

* * *

 

Bullets chased McCree's heels down the dusty sidestreet in bustling Numbani. He dodged right into what he was hoping was another alleyway only to find himself backed into a dumpster alcove. He almost made the mistake of peering around the corner, but caught himself before some Talon goon shot off the end of his nose. He waited a breath, and when he didn't hear the clatter of footsteps he removed his hat, holding it in his bionic hand and leaning it out around the corner to see if anyone still had a bead on his position. No sooner had his hat waved in clear view than another spray of gunfire danced along the open street, glancing the back of his prosthetic. Didn't seem to cause any crippling damage, but he'd have a dent in the back of his hand until he passed it off for repairs again. McCree pursed his lips around his cigar as he clenched his teeth and narrowed his eyes.

He considered radioing for backup, but before he could there was static in his ear. Hanzo had spotted the target headed eastbound towards a busy marketplace but was pinned down on a rooftop two blocks down and couldn't get any closer. He insisted he could make the shot but needed someone to keep the Talon operatives off his back. Scrunching his nose up in a sour expression, McCree swore under as he spun the chamber on his revolver, cramming another bullet into the empty slot and closing it up again. His trigger finger twitched as he braced himself against the smooth stone wall for a breath before diving out from around the corner.

Immediately there was a shower of bullets following in his wake. He squeezed the grip tight in his fist, using the palm of his prosthetic to work the hammer, firing as fast as he could cock it again. Four shots and three agents down, McCree growled only feeling the sting of a grazing shot in his left side when the smoke had settled. He grunted as he stood, ignoring the pain as he jogged towards the rendezvous point, reloading as he went. He only holstered Peacekeeper as he made it to be building Hanzo was pinned down on, leaping from the top of a dumpster to tail end of a fire escape. The structure groaned under his weight as the retractable ladder slid from its protective casing, nearly dropping him flat on his ass. Growling under his breath, McCree scrambled up the escape ladder and practically sprinted up the rest of the rickety structure to the rooftop.

Hanzo was backed into a corner, too busy protecting himself to make a clear shot at the target, but he clearly hadn't lost sight of their person of interest either. As he was drawing his bow to take down a flanking operative, McCree squeezed off a shot, dropping the enemy and giving himself enough space to close the gap between himself and Hanzo.

“Easy, partner,” he swaggered through a mouthful of smoke, “the cavalry has arrived.”

“You took too long.” Hanzo snapped back with a stern glare, turning his attention away from the battle on the rooftop towards the marketplace below. “Our target has entered the marketplace. I only have time to make one shot.” The target had slipped into the crowd, taking cover among the civilians gathered in the streets. Hanzo tracked his movements with bow drawn taught, lining up the shot and waiting for the perfect moment to let his arrow fly. Meanwhile McCree kept busy covering his back, placing himself squarely between Hanzo and the advancing Talon agents.

“If I know you, you only need one shot,” McCree scoffed as he reloaded. Making the mistake of glancing over the edge of the building, he caught an eyeful of the market below, knowing the target was down there more than a hundred meters away. It took a bullet ricocheting off of his breastplate to draw his attention back to the firefight. He was holding his own, for now, but every second they spent on the roof, more Talon agents crawled up over the edge like cockroaches in a cheap motel room. Static sang in his ear again as he shot down another three agents, using the moment of reprieve to radio in.

“We're pinned down on the roof with more Talons than you can shake a stick at. Hanzo's gonna make the shot but we need evac pronto.” McCree was firing bullets as fast as he could load them, taking a tentative step backwards towards Hanzo with a nervous growl. “Amari get us outa here, I can't keep holding them off like this!” He glanced over his shoulder again at Hanzo as he refilled the chamber, wondering why he hadn't taken the shot yet. Pulse rising in his chest McCree went back to fending off the Talon agents as best he could, but they were rapidly gaining ground.

Sweat dripped from Hanzo's brow down the bridge of his nose, as he tracked the target with the tip of his arrow. His fingers trembled around the string from keeping it drawn so long, but it was a challenging mark to hit, and one he couldn't afford to miss. Gritting his teeth, he picked up on the call for evacuation and steadied his breathing taking one final breath as he heard the rumbling of the transport in the distance. Hanzo held that breath, keeping his arms steady for a moment longer before letting the air go along with the bowstring. There was a low thump as the bow flexed and the string snapped forward, and for the instant the arrow was in the air time felt slowed. The fletching on the arrow spiraled as it flew true, closing on the target.

One hundred meters.

Fifty.

Ten.

Hanzo narrowed his eyes as he tracked the arrow. The crowd below seemed to buckle around the projectile as it clipped the target and sunk into the gut of a passerby who folded into the force of impact like they'd been punched in the stomach by a heavyweight. Shock rippled through the market as ice poured down Hanzo's spine. His ears rung and for a moment he heard a terrified shriek from below before the sounds of bedlam were drowned out by the roaring of their evac transport. Hanzo watched in gripped astonishment as the target he'd been aiming for ducked under the crowd and vanished into the erupting mayhem.

“- the shot!” The ringing in his ears subsided just enough to hear McCree shouting over the sound of gunfire and the encroaching transport. Hanzo didn't answer.

“Did you make the shot?!” McCree shouted, eyes wide and worried as he drummed his prosthetic against the hammer of his revolver. “The transport is here! Hanzo we gotta move!” Jesse holstered his gun just long enough to give Hanzo a shove towards the shuttle as it hovered just past the ledge of the building. The vehicle lurched, and Jesse gripped his wrist to keep him steady as he helped Hanzo aboard. The vehicle was being pelted with gunfire, and once Hanzo was aboard, Lúcio stretched his hand out to take McCree's. Lúcio's fingers wrapped around the wrist of Jesse's bionic arm and pulled him in while he returned fire.

As McCree put his weight on the vehicle and grabbed the handrail, a shot whizzed through the gap between them and straight into the meat of Lúcio's shoulder. Blood splattered across McCree's face, and the cigar tumbled from between his teeth and down into the marketplace as he shouted for Fareeha to get them out of there. He caught Lúcio under the arm before he could fall overboard, giving him a shove inside as he pulled the shielded door shut. When the doors were secure and all were accounted for, McCree slumped in the nearest empty seat while Lena applied pressure to Lúcio's wound and Doctor Ziegler injected an anesthetic into his shoulder. McCree could feel his stomach turn as the transport accelerated.

He glanced towards Hanzo, and for a moment caught a glimpse of his dark eyes, but Hanzo quickly averted his gaze, a frown creasing his brow and souring his expression. Jesse didn't need to ask again if Hanzo had gotten the shot, his face said everything.

“Shit,” he growled as he took off his hat and wiped the sweat, blood, and sulfur from his brow. What a damn cluster this turned out to be.

 

The landing was rough, and McCree held the door open for Angela and Lúcio as she rushed him back to the med bay. He lingered at the door while the transport unloaded, waiting until everyone was off. Well, almost everyone. McCree placed his metal palm against Hanzo's chest as he stepped down off the shuttle, eyeing him with a mixture of skepticism and worry.

“What happened up there,” he murmured, not wanting to draw too much attention as he questioned his teammate. It wasn't like Hanzo to let his teammates stand in the line of fire for him, and it had ended in bloodshed. Hanzo disguised his hurt well with anger, but before he retorted Fareeha interjected as she climbed down out of the cockpit.

“Shimada. McCree. Chitchat later. Morrison wants a debrief on the mission.” She paused, tucking her helmet under her arm, her face looking grave as she glanced towards the back of the hanger. “Now.”

Hanzo shoved past, not ready to admit the depth of his failure to McCree as he hurried towards the conference chamber. McCree pulled a face as he placed the leather hat back on his head. He bit the end off a new cigar and lit up as he followed behind Fareeha and Hanzo. Nothing good could have happened if Morrison was demanding a debrief the second their boots touched solid ground again.

The conference room seemed empty without Mercy and Lúcio. McCree kicked his boots up on the desk as Fareeha dialed in the call. Rather than seeing Morrison's visage in the hologram as expected, the projector showed a low-resolution video suspended two-dimensionally in space. It was the Numbani marketplace. Hanzo stiffened as the video shook and a shriek erupted from the noisy crowd, the camera panning over just in time to catch a glimpse of a human figure slumped over in the street with the long shaft of an arrow protruding from their belly. McCree winced and flashed Hanzo a worried glance, but Hanzo seemed too mortified to look away from the video, jaw clenched in silent horror.

“What the fuck did I just watch.” Jack's voice growled over the intercom as the video replayed, pausing as it reached the clearest frame of the unintended victim. The video resized to allow Morrison's face to share projector space. His brow was creased with stern anger. “What the fuck was that, Shimada.” It wasn't a question so much as it was a thinly veiled threat. Hanzo's throat tightened and his elbows locked up, breath stuttering in his chest for a moment as he tried to answer.”

“It was-”

“It was my fault, Commander.” McCree interrupted, letting his boots fall to the floor and resting his elbows on his knees, glowering intently up at the projection. Hanzo tried to interject with a hiss, but McCree talked over him. “I was pressuring Hanzo to hurry up and take the damn shot... I... I backed into him trying to keep Talon back and threw off his aim. It's my fault. If it wasn't for me he'd have made the shot no problem.” Hanzo curled his lips into a grimace and snorted, knowing full well if it wasn't for McCree he wouldn't have had the chance to make the shot in the first place the way Talon had swarmed on their location. McCree kept his eyes glued to Morrison's image, silently daring him as smoke trickled from the corner of his mouth.

“You're on inventory management until further notice.” Morrison snarled, voice rattling over the speaker static. “The Nigerian Bureau of Investigation wants to see somebody indicted, and I've got half a mind to let them have you, McCree. Your bullheadedness got another operative put in the med bay. I want you to think long and hard about your role in this team from the bench. Another slip up like this and Overwatch won't be covering your ass again, got that?” The room was quiet, and McCree heaved a smokey sigh through his nose.

“Understood, Jack. Not another toe out of line or you'll throw a rope around my neck and drag me back to 66 behind a jump bike. I get it.” He sulked a bit and tipped the brim of his hat down to cover his eyes. It was a slap on the wrist, sure, but Morrison knew his track record; this was the only slap on the wrist he was ever gonna get. Maybe Hanzo's career wouldn't have come to a screeching halt, but it never hurt to fall back on the padded truth. Besides, the way Jesse saw it, Hanzo was a bigger asset to the team than he was. Not that he wasn't an asset himself, but compared side-by-side, Hanzo could do more good for Overwatch. McCree just made a damn good scapegoat and he knew it. “Are we dismissed, Commander?”

“You're dismissed.” Morrison growled and pinched his brow between his fingertips before the hologram cut out. Jesse rubbed his palm across his throat, already imagining the lasso tightening under his jaw. He sure knew how to make an example of himself. He cleared his throat as he stood, feigning like he'd been scratching at the bristles on his chin. The rest of the team parted around him like waves around a stone in the sand. Lena offered him a sympathetic look but followed Fareeha back out the way they'd come. McCree waited around a good long while after everyone else had cleared out, wishing he had a few hours yet to kill to give himself an excuse to loiter in the empty conference hall and finish his smoke.

He wasn't even halfway through the cigar around the time the sweat and grime started to feel unbearable on his skin. With a defeated groan, McCree made his way back through the barracks towards his bunk. It was like a single-bed hotel room, just barely enough space for a man to exist in. He shed his layers at the door, hanging his hat and serape from the coat rack and squandering the empty space on his bed with the rest. Dropping his cigar into the ashtray beside his bed he made his way towards the bathroom. He grimaced at his reflection, blood and powder smattered across his cheeks and in his hair, the scar from Dorado still creasing the bridge of his nose. He looked down to his side, pressing his palm to his flank where he'd been clipped. The wound wasn't serious, it had practically cauterized itself and scabbed over. It wasn't anything that needed Angela's attention, just a little soap and antiseptic. Finally he grabbed his prosthetic by the bicep and twisted, detaching it with a hiss and letting it clatter into the sink.

Jesse's body felt heavy but the water was hot enough to sear away the weariness in his muscles. He stood in the steam, washing the day from his skin and thinking. He thought about Hanzo, and about the civilian crumpled around his arrow and what that meant for Overwatch. Sure, Jesse McCree was no stranger to bystanders getting caught in the crossfire, but things were different now. Overwatch was supposed to protect the innocent. That's why they were all here. Society needed protecting – needed heroes. Well Jesse McCree was no hero. He did his best, sure, but history seemed to follow him around like a ball and chain. Sure it was one thing to make some punk from a rival gag eat his gun, but nothing quite compared to the horror the first time you pull the trigger on a schmuck without a gun. The way it coils up in your gut and makes you sick because for the first time death seems real and tangible.

He hissed as water and soap stung at his flank, looking down and catching a glimpse of scarlet seeping from the fresh wound. He swore and shut the water off, not bothering to dry off before he went rummaging through the medicine cabinet. He patched himself up with a little gauze and tape, dried himself off and put himself back together. As he headed back out he forewent his breastplate but grabbed his hat and serape, feeling naked without them. His heels clicked and his spurs jingled as he made his way down the halls of the barracks, telling himself he couldn't stay cooped up like that forever. He wound up outside Hanzo's door and paused, taking a long drag from his cigar and wondering if he should knock. He decided after the stunt he pulled today if Hanzo wanted anything to do with him, then Hanzo was grown enough to find him.

He passed by the med bay, but the lights were dimmed for the evening. With a hole like that in his shoulder Lúcio was probably on something strong and sedating. McCree kept walking, lacing his fingers behind his head and eventually finding his way to the common room. In the wake of their debrief things had wound down pretty quickly it seemed. Lena and Zarya were at a table with a deck of cards spread between them while Reinhardt snored loudly from the couch. Lena looked up and gave him a wave.

“Hey McCree! Zarya is teaching me how to play Durak, wanna come learn?”

“Ain't it past your bedtime little lady?” He drawled with a smirk leaning in the doorway if only to avoid getting dragged into their game.

“Is it not past your bed time, old timer?” Zarya sneered back, turning and throwing her elbow over the back of her chair to give Jesse a smug look. “I think you should join Mr. Reinhardt on the couch.” Lena giggled.

“Whoa now, no need to bring a man's age into it.” McCree put his hands up in defense but returned the smile all the same. “Bah... you know ya can't teach an old dog like me new tricks though, and unless ya wanna wake up Santa Clause there it don't look like you've got enough for poker.” He tipped his hat and used his shoulder to push himself away from the doorway. “I'll let you ladies play yer game. I'm just gonna mosey on down to the docks for some fresh air.”

“Suit yourself,”

As Zarya turned back towards their game, McCree wandered on down the corridor towards the docks. While the hanger door wasn't open like he'd bee hoping the side door was unlocked. The view from their base on the outskirts of the city was breathtaking, no light pollution from the urban center muddying up his view of the stars. He sat on the bottom of the stairs and flicked the butt of his cigar into the dust, deciding if he was gonna be out in the fresh air he might as well breathe some of it. Lacing his fingers under his chin, McCree looked up at the wispy clouds trailing in front of the moon and wondered if Hanzo was out training so he wouldn't miss again, or if he was drinking the lament away. If it was the latter Jesse kind of wished he could join him.

 

McCree was the first one in the med bay at the crack of dawn. That wasn't entirely true, Doctor Ziegler had beaten him there and was busy performing some blood tests when he came in the door.

“Mornin' doc. Is our little patient up?”

Angela looked up from her work and gave him a curious look.

“He is awake. Are you here to visit or just checking to see if he made it?”

“Just visiting, ma'am. Thought I'd bring him a little something for the pain.” He pulled a flask from his pocket and gave it a shake.

“I assure you he is in no pain. Do not give him alcohol, Jesse McCree. It will react poorly with his medication.”

“Kidding,” he feigned, tucking the flask away and giving her a defensive shrug. “What can I bring him though? I feel mighty responsible for him getting hurt and all...”

“I suggest a card?” She gave him a puzzled expression and shrugged. “He has all he needs here in the clinic, but your concern is admirable.” Jesse hummed and scratched his beard thoughtfully.

“I think I've got an idea what'll cheer him up, doc. I'll be back. Thanks for the suggestion.”

“But I only suggested a card...” she started as he was already headed back out. She clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes and turned back to her tests, focusing her microscope as she swapped out the samples.

McCree wasn't gone for more than thirty minutes before Angela heard the clinking of his spurs again, but this time he was followed by Lena and Hana.

“See here, doc,” he grinned with his thumbs tucked in his belt, “I found something you couldn't provide for 'im. Company. Ain't that right ladies?”

“I suppose you're right. Lúcio is through the back door and on the left. I'm sure he will appreciate the visit.”

The girls did most of the talking, but McCree didn't mind. Lúcio had a bandage on his shoulder the size of a pauldron and he was still a bit sluggish from the analgesics, but he was smiling and laughing, which was about all Jesse could have hoped for. Lena had brought cookies, though they were store-bought and Lúcio didn't have much of an appetite they all had a few, even Angela. After about an hour of socializing though it was clear Lúcio was starting to get tired again. Hana and Lena said their goodbyes, but Jesse lingered a bit, giving the doctor a quick nod as she shut the door to give them a moment. Jesse sighed and sat on the cot adjacent to Lúcio's bunk.

“Kid... I feel awful terrible makin' y'all come to a hot LZ like that. I feel responsible for you gettin' hurt, and while I can't speak for Hanzo, I know he does too.” He took off his hat and set it aside before rooting under his serape for the paper folded in his breast pocket. It was crumpled, and his fingers didn't do much to smooth it out, but he handed it over anyway. “The girls and I made this for you hopin' it might cheer you up some. I'm no Rembrandt, but neither are they so we're even.”

Lúcio unfolded the paper; it was a rather crudely drawn card with pictures of most everyone from Overwatch, and a handful of signatures on the inside from everyone who wasn't out on a mission or still asleep. McCree's signature was right next to Hanzo's but it was painfully obvious McCree had written them both. He hadn't even bothered to change pens. Lúcio smiled as he looked up from the card.

“Hey. I don't blame you, and I don't blame Hanzo, okay? We take risks like this every day, it's a part of being in Overwatch. We're a team, and sometimes we gotta get in the line of fire for each other.” He grinned propped himself up on his good elbow a little. “Besides, now I get to lay in bed and mix beats all day. The doc'll have me back on my blades in no time though.” His smile softened and he leaned back clearly wore out from the medication and excitement.

“Get better soon, kid. Don't end up with a bum arm like me...” Jesse chuckled and put his hat back on as he stood to leave.

“Hey McCree,” Lúcio interrupted before he could get out the door. “Talk to Hanzo. You seem more worried about him than you do about me.” McCree sputtered to his own defense, but Lúcio cut him off again. “It's cool. A brother can tell when a fool's got it bad.”

“That obvious, huh?” McCree chuckled with a defeated smile, tipping his hat modestly. “Thanks, kid. Now get some rest.”

The rest of the morning is full of clerical work for McCree. He'd stopped by Hanzo's room in an attempt to follow Lúcio's advice, but already Hanzo was away on another mission – likely out cleaning up the mess they'd made yesterday Jesse mused. He was envious, wishing he could be out in the field, in the hot streets of Numbani with a gun in his hand, in his element. Inventory was easy, but tedious, and didn't keep McCree's attention for long. He had to check their records against their stores for everything from food rations to medical supplies to weapons and ammunition. He rubbed the crease in his brow with one hand as he thumbed through the catalogue with the other. He'd spent hours counting up hundreds of boxes, cracking open crates and checking their contents, checking item after item off the list and still he wasn't even a tenth of the way through. Even if he busted his ass all day every day he'd be benched for weeks before all the stock was accounted for.

McCree was about hip deep in crates of medical supplies, counting out boxes of individually wrapped sanitary tongue depressors and thinking of crude jokes when he overheard the barracks intercom announce the imminent arrival of a transport vehicle in hanger bay two. He shot a searing glance at the clock on the wall and another at his checklist. He had about an hour and a half or a hundred more items to go, whichever came first. Knowing Hanzo was bound to be on that transport Jesse licked his fingers and thumbed through the catalogue again. No problem.

He only managed to beat the clock by about fifteen minutes, but he figured that was better than Morrison expected him to do, so it wasn't a total loss. He logged out of he inventory software and headed straight for Hanzo's room, but the closer he got the slower he walked. Throat clicking as he swallowed, Jesse considered lighting up to calm his nerves, but what he really needed was a stiff drink. Gnawing his lip indecisively as he closed on Hanzo's bunk he contemplated turning on his heel and walking the other way but chickened out of that plan too. He spent a good four or five minutes just pacing out in front of Hanzo's door before his thoughts were interrupted.

“Either come in or leave, but quit making that racket outside my door with your ridiculous spurs.” Jesse paused in front of the door, lips quirked to the side thoughtfully before he spoke back.

“That an invitation, partner?”

The door cracked open and Hanzo stood in the doorway, cool with his expression but not so frigid with his posture. He held the door back and stood just far enough aside that Jesse could come in if he was willing to bump shoulders.

“What do you think?”

He was more than willing.

“Much obliged.” He sidled his way past Hanzo, aiming a playful swat towards his behind and getting the small of his back. He removed his hat politely as he crossed the threshold and hung it beside his serape on the coat rack by the door. He took a seat at the foot of the bed while Hanzo sat in the only chair by the desk. McCree thought about kicking off his shoes but didn't want to get too comfortable prematurely if Hanzo was only humoring him. There was an awkward moment of silence while Jesse looked at Hanzo's feet and Hanzo looked at his wine gourd, already unbuckled from his belt and uncorked. He watched Hanzo take a drink and patted himself down for the flask he'd pocketed earlier.

“Cheers then,” he mumbled, taking a swig of whiskey and trying not to cringe as it burned down his throat. Hanzo lifted his calabash and nodded in silent agreement. He'd gotten a head-start but didn't seem all the worse for it.

“What brings you by, cowboy?” Hanzo asked his eyes creasing up at the corners in what almost passed for a smile by his standards. Almost.

“Ain't seen you since this time yesterday, darlin',” Jesse started, putting his lips back to his flask before continuing. “Y'all right?”

“Of course,” Hanzo's eyes flicked down and he blinked before looking back up at Jesse. Not a good sign. McCree paused before he spoke again.

“Lúcio says he don't blame nobody for him gettin' hurt.”

“You mean he does not blame you.” Hanzo's lips actually turned up for a moment at that. It was teasing, not malicious, though if he was a little more drunk McCree might not have been able to tell the difference. “You were the one who could not keep the evac point clear.”

“Well I sure didn't have any help from you,” Jesse snapped, not intending to sound as heated as he did. He immediately regretted the way it sounded and jumped in again before Hanzo had a chance to get his fur rubbed the wrong way by it. “That came out wrong. You had a difficult shot to make. Anyone coulda missed it.” Shit. He needed a smoke. He settled for another drink instead.

“Anyone did not miss the shot.” Hanzo snorted, lip curling as he rested his elbow on the desk and gave Jesse an irked expression.

“Look...” _partner, darlin'_ “Hanzo.” He let out a breath. McCree didn't want to fight, he was just a world-class champion at putting his hoof in his mouth and he knew it. “You ain't the only guy to ever cause a few civilian casualties...” He cringed at his own words, biting on his disobedient tongue and averting his gaze as Hanzo bristled.

“I am not a reckless fool like you!” Hanzo retorted brow creasing as he fixed Jesse under a stern glower. McCree balked at that, shoulders hunching a bit and drawing one leg up to rest his boot heel on the steel bed frame, putting up a subtle wall between them.

“That you ain't...” he mumbled, wishing he had his hat to pull over his eyes.

The room was quiet save for the chair creaking as Hanzo shifted his weight to rest his elbows on his knees. His brows knitted and he snorted indignantly through his knuckles, but after silence had cooled the flare of frustration, he set his wine gourd on the desk and pushed off his knees. Neochrome heels clicked on the tile as he took a couple steps to sit next to McCree on the mattress, springs groaning under the added weight.

“McCree...” He started, pausing to rethink his approach. Hanzo sighed and tried to let all the apprehension drain from his body before he bothered to speak again. “You're a good man, Jess... for a reckless fool.” His expression softens and his head tips in a way that's almost inviting. McCree wasn't sure whether he should take the bait or let things go. He bit his lip. What better time was there to be a reckless fool?

Kissing Hanzo Shimada tasted like warm sake. Kissing Jesse McCree tasted like taking a shot of whiskey from an ashtray.

“Sure you're okay?” Jesse mumbled against Hanzo's lips, cracking an eye as he felt warm, calloused palms at the nape of his neck.

“I'm _fine,_ Jess” Hanzo breathed, leaning away he gave Jesse an impatient look as his fingers laced into his tangled locks. “You aggravate me,” Hanzo snorted, making a laugh bubble up in Jesse's chest, even when his hair was pulled in retribution. The laughter hitched as lips pressed against his pulse and fingertips slid under the collar of his shirt, and Jesse found himself wondering when the buttons had come undone.

“That's not what you said last night,” Jesse chuckled, letting Hanzo's weight lean him back, the lips leaving his neck as Hanzo gave him an irate expression.

“We did not see each other last night.”

“Lost time to make up for then, hm?”

“Anata ga hansamudearu koto o saiwaidesu,” Hanzo growled, twisting his lips to the side and giving McCree a halfhearted scowl. “Anata no kuchi wa orokadearunode.”*

“No fair darlin'-” Jesse began to protest before a grin spread across his lips. “Did you just call me handsome?” He wiggled his brow slyly at Hanzo, knowing it did little more than bother him.

“I did not!” Hanzo insisted, using his thumb and forefinger to undo a couple more buttons on the front of Jesse's shirt. “I said it is fortunate that your head is so big, otherwise it would not accommodate your big fat mouth!”

“Shucks, darlin'” McCree feigned like the words had wounded him, placing his bionic hand over his chest to Hanzo's chagrin as it impeded his progress. “I thought you liked my big fat mouth.”

“Your big fat mouth will stay shut if it knows what is good for it,” Hanzo grumbled, reluctantly giving in as he leaned down and pressed his lips to Jesse's.

McCree obliged with avidity, moving his palm from his chest to the silver tresses framing Hanzo's face. While he could not feel it through the warm machinery of his prosthetic, Jesse knew it was like silk and ink as he reached for the ribbon keeping Hanzo's hair up. Their kiss stalled as Hanzo placed his palm on Jesse's wrist.

“Do not. You will rip out my hair with that thing...” It was obvious the words held no meaning as he moved Jesse's arm, giving the steel joint of his inner wrist an almost doting kiss as he pulled the silk ribbon from his hair with his free hand, tresses spilling midnight across his shoulders. There was a clink of spurs as McCree kicked off his boots onto the floor.

Soon after came Hanzo's obi, followed by the clatter of McCree's belt buckle, the rustling of fabric broken mostly by the sound of lips on bare skin. Jesse traced the ripples of Hanzo's muscular back, counting the vertebrae with his fingertips while Hanzo's mouth seared against his clavicle and his sternum. The bed creaked again as their body weight shifted, climbing towards the center. With his head in a cluster of pillows, Jesse slid his palm along the dragons tattooed into Hanzo's skin, tracing the serpentine coils as they wound around firm muscles.

Dropping to his elbows, Hanzo threaded his fingers through Jesse's tangled hair, tipping his chin up and kissing his throat as he settled between Jesse's thighs. Palms roving Hanzo's back, Jesse grunted, seeking purchase with his fingers on his lover's toned rear. Hanzo gripped the hair at the base of Jesse's skull for a moment before smoothing the locks back apologetically and finding Jesse's mouth with his own. Breath catching in his chest, Jesse's spine drew up like a bow, muscles taught as the springs groaned below. He panted soft and shallow against Hanzo's sharp cheek, planting wet, desperate kisses against his skin when he had the breath to spare. Hanzo's voice trembled against his bristly jaw, smooth and raw and rich like freshly ground coffee. Toes curling as his heels lifted off the sheets, McCree's voice crackled in the back of his throat, fingernails drawing red streaks up the arch of Hanzo's back until he came undone like a knot in his lover's hands.

The mattress trembled like it shared in their sweaty elation, all loose arms and doting touches as muscles came unbound while they remained tangled in each other. As the glow of euphoria slowly began to wain and took turns remembering how to breathe, Jesse buried his nose in the hollow behind Hanzo's ear. Jesse's voice was throaty as it shuddered against his jaw, but he scraped together enough of himself to speak if only just.

“Love you, Hanzo.”

Hanzo grunted and repositioned himself, nestling his head beside Jesse's and pressing a gentle kiss to his brow while laying flush against his flank. He pressed the bridge of his nose to Jesse's damp hairline and sighed contentedly.

“You are a good man, Jess.”

Hanzo doesn't say 'I love you' back when McCree says it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> *"It is fortunate you are handsome" [...] "Because your mouth is stupid." (From Google translate, so please take it with a grain of salt)
> 
> This is my first attempt at writing for Overwatch characters, and my first time writing fan fiction by myself. I'm open to critiques of characterization (especially Hanzo I'm most worried about getting him right). If you notice any errors or are interested in beta-reading future chapters let me know let me know in PM.
> 
> It's also worth noting that I wrote this in three days and finally got to where I wanted to be with the plot I had planned for Chapter 1 and checked the word count. It's 6699 on my word processor. Dunno why it's 6633 on AO3? I find that number far less entertaining.


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